Lance and Laser: Making of a Mercenary
by FenrisMarine
Summary: Captain Diana La Croix is a rising star on the MRBC's mercenary rating boards, completing some touch jobs since coming onto the scene after the Truce at Tukkayid. This short piece serves as a self contained story, and is potentially a launch point for a series of short stories following La Croix and her unit, both in the FedCom civil war and La Croix's past.


3063 – Fed Com/Draconis Combine Border

The quartet of mech warriors tromps through the passageways of the dropship that was transport, HQ and barracks. This crew was a tight one, with their commanding officer owning the dropship and acting as its captain, as well as head of the merc unit it transported. Like any small team that works together, the unit's heavier lance is all smiles, this contract is going extremely well and their paychecks should end up looking very nice. Lia, a petite and muscular Asian woman with a propensity for pistols and brass knuckles who carried the call sign Bruiser, tags one of her compatriots on the shoulder, a thick set man of an ethnicity he calls "Cherokee" with almost violent insistence.

"Oh yeah! I just remembered! Captain says Burr's Black Cobras are making planet fall on the other continent."

The mechwarrior she just punched rubs his shoulder lightly. "Headhunter" was no wimp, but Lia hit like her call sign implied. She'd earned that nickname in bar fights and the boxing ring, not her mech cockpit. "Thanks for informing us about that so soon Bruiser. Mention that before you start going on about the Solaris rankings maybe?"

The lance commander, a woman with a close cropped haircut and a short, muscular figure designed for violence before aesthetics, and a legendarily bad attitude, call sign "Congeniality" or "Genie" to her lancemates growls, stopping Bruiser from responding; "Well fuck. There goes that bonus. Are we scrubbing the rest of the mission?"

Lia bounces around her friends a little bit, shadowboxing, her high energy even more cued up at the prospect of a fight. "Nope, skipper says we're going in hard, finishing some extra business and hauling ass. Apparently she's already cut a quiet deal with the Cobra's CO. Once we make orbit we're considered out of conflict unless we make planet fall again. Course, once we go up we're hitting the jump point and leaving so that's not exactly concerning right?"

The final member of the lance, a well-spoken, older black man who was solely referred to as "Professor", as even his lancemates didn't know his name, and he'd been fighting with them for over a year now. "Do you think they know what our contract was? The real one I mean, not the smashing up the mech works bit."

Genie shakes her head "It didn't go through the usual MRBC channels, so I wouldn't think so. I'm guessing they just don't care because two lances of combat mechs, a demi-lance of scout and recon mechs and some grunts are beneath their notice being such fancy troops and such."

"Well hell with it any way." Headhunter interjects. "I'm guessing we're going to be right up front?"

"You're the one who wanted to pilot a Penetrator, just like Archer Christifori." Bruiser points out, her cheerful tone more than a little mocking of her friend's woe is me attitude.

"Don't remind me."

"Aw cheer up Shadow, you'll feel better after you pop a mech or two and some tanks. Or what was it you say your culture used to do? Take scalps?" Genie's snarky remark draws a laugh from Bruiser and makes the Professor sigh audibly. The girls enjoyed messing with their more serious and far greener associate. A flash of white uniform catches the eldest member of the lance's eye however and he barks out "Attention on deck!" the mechwarriors immediately shutting up and moving to the sides of the corridor at the position of attention.

Captain Diana La Croix, call sign "Joan" was resplendent in a crisp white uniform with a scarlet half cape and beret, with the insignia of a gold fleur de li with two roses and a sword, her mercenary outfit's crest, on each side of the tight mandarin collar. The crest was a unique one, and one that had an odd influence on nobles who considered them for work, perhaps thinking they were bringing on a higher class of merc. The captain snaps "As you were. Briefing's in the bay in sixty minutes at my command mech." And she's gone, the crisp impact of her long black cavalry style boots echoing through the corridors.

"Skipper's all dressed up. Must have had to report to the client or something."

"Negotiating safe passage terms with the Cobras maybe?"

Bruiser's stopped her usual bouncing around, falling into step with her lancemates and is rubbing her chin thoughtfully. "Hey. Do you guys actually know anything about the skipper? I mean, she seems really military at times, even for a merc commander. Was she a noble or something? Disgraced military officer? Probably Federated Suns or Lyran by the accent…"

Genie smacks Bruiser on the back "Worry about writing the skipper's autobiography later, worry about not ending up atomized by a PPC or LRM barrage now."

3025 – Federated Suns Border planet, Capellan March

The forest was quiet. Finally.

It hadn't been quiet for a couple days now. The constant thump, shriek and explosion of missiles traveling from launcher to target. The hum of energy weapons, and the steady drumming of autocannons with the sound of small arms filling what little silence there was. They'd touched down two… no three days prior? No markings, just lethal efficiency as they assaulted from orbit, no real aerospace support that we'd seen yet. Thankfully.

Diana was relaxing for once, toying with her staff sergeant's rank insignia that weren't even a month old. She'd been a trouble maker as a Corporal and below that, and as a sergeant she'd had a reputation for being creative with her employment of her troops and accomplishing her mission. She watches as the runner heads over to the shelter half the company First Sergeant is using as a defacto HQ tent and starts to report.

"Top! Top! Word from the scouts, they think they've found the camp of a recon lance."

"…an actual recon lance or the Lyran kind of recon lance?"

"Actual recon skip… gurhk" the man's voice is cut off by the sergeant's hand closing around his throat, the man attached to it emerging from the darkness of the shelter half's shadow with a steely look in cold blue eyes.

"I told you, just because the CO bought it, doesn't mean I get a magic promotion. It's First Sergeant, or Top when I'm in a good mood or you finally get sergeant's stripes, and to you, just you Tompkins, the one true god of your pathetic existence, but never the skipper. Got it? The Captain died saving your scrawny ass as well as mine. Save the respect for the man who put his blood on the ground for you."

Suitably chastised the runner braces to the POA and gives his full report, and the entirety of first platoon and the rest of the company that was in ear shot quickly returned to their tasks as First Sergeant calls out for a few of his senior sergeants, his rough voice echoing through the camp, but going no further. The fine art of yelling nearly silently. Top had saved the company, just as much as the CO had bought it delaying and distracting a lance of mixed mechs with a fixed weapons point with a few other volunteers, Top had saved them all. The officers were all dead. The skipper had been the last of them.

It was Top that had kept them in fighting shape, kept them together, and now as the recon soldier gives the command staff, such as it was, the report on the enemy camp, it was Top who was going to get them their revenge. Revenge on the invaders who'd come to their world, or at the very least their duty station. They who had murdered their friends, comrades, brothers. Vengeance might not do much till reinforcements arrive, assault lances and other fatties to squash the invaders into atoms, but this strike. This is something a bunch of salty, lean and mean grunts could do.

After the impromptu conference, the other three platoon sergeants bounce back over to their platoons as a shadow watches from the fourth platoon area. She hadn't been called. She probably should have been. She was a platoon leader after all, even if it was only the regular rifleman. The junior chunk of an elite unit defined by the anti-mech, recon and sapper platoons that made the bulk of its forces.

Top shifts himself, pouring a mug of something approaching a hot beverage. Maybe. Before motioning her over. Diana gulps and takes a breath, popping up and arranging herself before striding over. Her muscular frame wasn't the most feminine in the world, but blonde hair, blue eyes and high cheek bones apparently can do a lot for a girl who's built for utility and violence. Top nods for her to take a seat and takes a deep sip. "Right La Croix, I wanted a personal word without those other three clowns on hand. How's your unit? Any more of those discipline issues that cropped up before this mess kicked off last week? You've barely had your troops for three weeks now."

Diana composes herself a little and coughs into her hand before her rather light and lyrical Neo-French accent escapes her lips, completely at odds with the body those lips are attached to "None Top, they're in line. Had an issue with one of my machinegun teams at the start but I did that little demonstration of Savate and they've given me no problems since. Especially after the assault."

"A woman half their size throwing them around like ragdolls can get through the heads of even the thickest grunts. Questions or suggestions for this op? I wanted to ask you without those other three lunkheads breathing down your neck. I know your record book. You have the experience and training and rank be damned I don't want fail to utilize a shred of anything of value in this unit. You're also a bit unhinged, and in a mess like that a little crazy is what we need." Diana's eyes flash, choking down a heated response as he lays out the situation, a recon lance with infantry support was bivouacking nearby, probably just moved into the area, either scouting for an advance or flanking a main force. Top sits back with his arms crossed. "Give me a war plan on killing these fuckers La Croix."

Diana rolls it around in her head for a moment, cracking her neck a few times before her eyes harden. "First Sergeant, if I was fighting the company, against an unknown enemy whose tactics we have no confirmed information on, I would proceed as follows. We have some silenced weapons with the recon teams. They can eliminate the sentries and then we go in with the knives and begin to eliminate the enemy, nice and quiet. Should give the anti-mech troops plenty of time to either disable or destroy the mech with the pilot on alert. Considering they think they're crushing us… there's a good chance to catch them off their guard, the pilot might even be snoozing. We'll leave the heavy and medium weapons teams along with the sapper platoon in the woods for fire support, with orders to concentrate their fire on the mechs, then vehicles, then enemy personnel, but only if shit truly hits the fan. Some explosions won't raise eyebrows in the AO, a protracted gun fight will. Which is why their comms need to be the top priority for one of the elite recon teams."

The First Sergeant grunts "Excellent, problems with that plan?" "Top, we don't have any of the jump packs for the anti-mech squads, they were all in the armory when we scrambled to the defense, and got detonated in that artillery barrage, and we do however have plenty of satchel charges and missiles and RPGs. Nothing against a fatty, but against a light mech that can do some damage. We also have the magnetic grappling hooks. We can rig these things to blow no problem. The hooks will also be a lot quieter then the packs, if we're in a situation we need jump packs we're probably fucked any way."

"More or less what I planned out, but with some nice changes and insights. We'll do it like that. Get back to your platoon La Croix."

The blonde salutes with a smile on her severe face, her high cheek bones giving her more of a fierce look then what anyone would call beautiful. La Croix strides straight back to her platoon like that, gathering her squad leaders in her wake like a force of nature. Issuing orders to their seconds to get everyone prepped to move out and get combat ready.

"Sarge is in a good mood…"

"Am I the only one who gets kinda scared when the Sarge is in a good mood?"

The other grunt slugs his friend in the shoulder lightly.

"Shaddap. We have work to do remember? Check your gear before Corporal Rand puts a boot up your ass. Or you catch so much lead we can use you as a commemorative pencil for the upcoming mission."

The forest was getting cool during the day, but it was frigid in the depths of the darkness before dawn, La Croix watching her breath for a second before doing a final check on her troops in the darkness, a small HUD letting her pull bio signs, locations and manage her comm system with a click of her tongue. New gear, but that's the benefit of getting tagged in with a special tasks company as opposed to the regular line grunts.

"Hatchet to Dagger." Dagger was her platoon's call sign. Hatchet was Top, a call sign that amused him, reference to his craggy face or no.

"Dagger actual, ready to receive."

"Stiletto is starting their parade, and Machete is in place. Stiletto will transmit two clicks on this frequency, you and Push Knife will move immediately on that signal."

"Copy, will comply."

"All hands, this is Hatchet, begin radio silence. Stand by for engagement signal."

Push Knife, the anti-mech specialists, were in the midst of her own platoon's ranks, they'd be advancing together though, so it made sense that they form a line with the rifle platoon as they advanced with the specialists splitting off as they moved past the four parked mechs and into the bivouac area to start their little party.

It wasn't long to wait. Diana thought she could hear Stiletto doing their work, the soft whisper of their anti-personnel rifles less audible then an owl's wings. She certainly heard the sentry nearest her falling to the deck like a sack of potatoes, his temple cleanly pierced by the unseen sniper. She looked at the body with a cold detachment, blood shining oddly on the near silver grass in the moonlight, steaming a bit as it cooled. She wasn't a greenhorn, and this guy and his comrades had killed more than a few of her friends already.

The two clicks echo across the net and without a word or physical signal the Federated Suns infantry stalk out of the tree line like ghosts rising out of their graves, intent on vengeance against the living. Or to bleed their unknown foe at the very, very least in this case. To make sure they paid something for the world they were assaulting.

The advance was text book. No sentries were alerted or disturbed. Easy enough of a task as Stiletto had killed them all. The pneumatic hiss of a magnetic grapple launching, locking into place and pulling the infantry man using it up towards the open cockpit of the mech Stiletto had identified as the current alert mech. The mech warrior inside, able to kill them all in the blink of an eye if his machine was active, died without knowing his enemy was there, the muzzle flash and soft noise of a silenced pistol ending him quickly.

With the major threat in the area disabled, everything else went perfectly. Her unit splitting up into squads then fire teams, sliding through various tents in the bivouac area, combat knives making short work of the sleeping enemy soldiers and mech warriors. At least until one of their opposing number, a grunt like them stumbled out of his tent, and manages to cry out an alarm in a language that sounded Capellan before unloading a magazine from his automatic rifle. Top was the first one hit, one of the other senior sergeants going down with him in a hail of lead.

Everything was just flashes after that, infantry spilling from every corner as a vehicle crew raced for an infantry fighting vehicle no one had gotten a satchel charge on yet. Diana surged forward, donating a frag grenade to the tent the first Capellan had come out of. The Push Knife team detonated their satchel charges as they rushed to rejoin, sending the multi-ton machines toppling to the ground and adding to the milling confusion. She checked her HUD and issued orders, moving her teams to get them back together and fighting in unison, sending the sitrep and the full assault order over the company net. Staff Sergeant Diana La Croix heard the company's heavy weapons start to open up right before she felt pressure wave of a Capellan RPG impacting near her position, and then she felt nothing at all.

Hospitals shouldn't be white, Diana thought to herself with a grumble and evil look towards the back of the nearest military nurse. Waking up in a bright, white area, wearing white, whether you believe in god or not really messes with your head. Till you start to feel whatever got you stuck in the hospital in the first place.

Eighty three pieces of shrapnel, dozen odd broken bones, one punctured lung, and some serious burns and scaring across her body. Her armor had stopped the worst of it, but, as one of her squad leaders who'd come to visit with well wishes from the platoon had said "You're well and truly fucked up Sarge."

It wasn't all bad though. With pain and consciousness had come information. The Capellan assault forces were well organized, but they were a lot less heavy then they hit, and as soon as the garrison commander got his hands on the controls they were able to quickly throw the forces of House Liao off the planet, with the net gain of a couple mechs, some drop ships and a few other pieces of extremely pricey gear. If the Capellan commander had survived, he likely wouldn't be long for the world of the living on his return to the Confederation. Not that they could prove that it was an official Capellan military expedition. The usual fun and games on the March. Not quite war, not quite peace.

She was shaken from her painkiller aided wool gathering by a nurse rather invasively cleaning her up, changing her gown and sheets and propping her up without even a word of explanation. The sound of heels hitting the deck in near cadence on the linoleum floor of the hallway just outside her room provide a clue though. She was going to have company. Probably important company.

Diana tenses to attention much as she can sitting down as the Colonel strides into the room in his full dress uniform, snapping his fingers for a pad of information from one of his aides. "Yes… that's right. La Croix. At ease Staff Sergeant, you're not in any position to brace up and have no need to. Let's see… damn fine work by all accounts, you took command after an op you planned went south, and from what I understand your orders in the field made the rest of the engagement decisively short. Unfortunately I have some bad news." "Sir?" the confused look on Diana's face said it all, getting a laugh from her commanding officer. "Ever hear that good work gets you more and more difficult work at that? Well I have a wound medal and valor medal for you here, but I also have orders for you to transfer off world to attend Officer Candidate School and see if we can make an infantry officer out of you."

Diana was flabbergasted, and the pain killers weren't helping. "I… sir… OCS?" "It was in your First Sergeant's notes on you. Apparently he was going to see how you ran your platoon for six months, bring you up as his deputy and assuming you didn't foul anything up, kick your ass to OCS. Something about raw material needing to be hammered and forged into shape. Your company commander concurred. From what I can tell his judgement was well placed. I'm sending you to my Alma Matter as it happens. Can I count on you? Something big is coming Staff Sergeant, and the Federated Suns is going to need everyone to do their utmost." "I… yes sir." "Recover quickly then, you're on the first jump ship heading upspin and rimward." "Aye sir." "Carry on Staff Sergeant." And with two medals pinned to her pillow and her OCS orders in her hands, trying to stop her head spinning, and finally catching on what the Colonel had said about something big. Another war maybe? She lowers herself back into a reclining position, sighing deeply "Time to worry about strategic wool gathering later. After I survive OCS. Where the hells is Goshen anyway?"

Present Day – 0820 Local

Diana stretches as she reaches the privacy of her ready room, one of the few luxuries she afforded herself as commanding officer and captain beyond her state room was a private locker room and shower separate from the normal mech warrior locker rooms. Not that there was much of a difference, the facilities onboard were nice, and her Chief of the Boat made sure his spacers kept it all that way, but there was something to be said for being able to take your time and strip down without a dozen odd other people around.

Slowly putting away the white, gold and scarlet uniform that marked her quite clearly when she was doing business or formal "captainy" work as she privately referred to it when talking to her senior staff, Diana catches sight of herself in the full length mirror, another vanity of hers despite looking like a woman who wasn't the slightest bit vain. Gone was the more muscular build of her infantry years, the wiry muscle of a long time mech jock, and longer time spacer making the arch of her high cheekbones more drawn and severe, the "spacer's tan", slang for being white enough to be incandescent under a blacklight made the various scars and burns more fierce and angry looking, especially the ones on her face.

Not for the first time she wonders how she came to really be there. A small town girl who followed family tradition and joined the AFFS as soon as she was legal, then to OCS and being selected as a Mechwarrior… and from there a tour of every March the Federated Suns had, and the clan invasion… a part of her shudders, remembering the stories that had filtered back to the FedSuns, about defending against the Clans, the cold fear that had grown in her gut. That same fear was there years later when her unit was going on the offensive with the ComGuard and Prince Victor too.

"That was when it all changed wasn't it?" she asks herself sarcastically. After the Third and Fourth Succession wars had drained her, made her actively start hating herself and her military service, the fight against the Clans reminded her that her job could actually mean something. So long as she was in the Inner Sphere, such meaning was elusive though. She'd shot the shit with some mercs from various outfits, including Wolf's Dragoons, and had liked their style. The final math she'd come to is, if she was going to be a tool for petty noble's games, she may as well do it by her rules and on her terms.

She and a couple of her people were coming up on the end of their current term of service, and between them they scared up some more bodies. Mostly FedCom, and from the Suns side, but a smattering of FWL and Draconis Combine. They even had a clanner leading their infantry company that she'd claimed as a bondsman. The once surly clanner had loosened up a bit, and was solely referred to as "the Gunny", spoken of and to in the third person. Not the most talkative type, but he could fight, and trained infantrymen better than anyone she'd ever seen.

The hard part had been the dropship of course, but officers were able to do quite a lot in the chaotic time after Tukkayid. They hadn't stolen the Errant Chance per say… it was more or less salvage depending on who you asked. Chances are the unit it had come to the Clan Invasion Corridor with had been killed outright. The crew had been done in by a unit of elementals harassing the back lines. Throw in some mechs "salvaged" including her own Bushwacker, more or less with the approval of her commanding officer, who was taking a discharge himself and didn't mind some financial incentive to change some papers. When word had gotten out that she was forming a mercenary company a few other mech warriors showed up, along with a couple squads of grunts, giving her a lance and a half with an Argus as their heaviest mech, and a rough company of infantry. It wasn't much, but it was more than a lot of people could say they started with. It'd been more than a few years now, and her unit was progressing nicely through the MRBC's ratings board, but it had all started back at Goshen…

The War College of Goshen – Goshen – 0540

It had been three months since she'd hit planet side on Goshen, and she'd had about thirty seconds to catch her breath since then. A haze of physical training, aptitude, health and other exams that went by like stars when you were on a jumpship. The initial boot period for cadets had quickly identified one thing for her, she was not the usual cadet. Namely she was being paid for tuition wise by her chain of command and was already a member of the AFFS, and she wasn't a child of any form of privilege or nobility. While the other cadets were pleasant enough, and hadn't said anything to her face at least, there was a distance between her and them. The indoc course was simple enough though, boot camp round two for her, and she helped out the various sons and daughters of nobility where she could, and before long, they found themselves sitting in a school circle, waiting to be assigned to their branch schools. Usually assignment was perfunctory. You had been designated for your various branch by your sponsor of one type or another, be it your parents or COC. So that's why it came as a surprise when the training officer balled out "La Croix. Mechwarrior. Report to the cadre with all your gear no later than 0630. You can stop for chow." She'd audibly choked over her response and more than a few members of her cadet platoon made a noise of surprise with her.

Frankly it wasn't until the sixth month of training that it was really real for her. Lots of classes, ranging from "standard" officer courses that were taken with the other branches, and the mechwarrior specific classes, including higher level tactical and strategic courses. It still hadn't been real, that for some reason some older and wiser head had taken a look at her profile and changed her destiny rather dramatically. Sitting in the cockpit of a real mech for the first time, her ears ringing slightly from connecting to the old model neurohelmet, that's when it became real. It would be even more real the first time her Shadowhawk raced from the bay of one of the War College's dropships, heading into battle with the War College's Training Battalion, putting the finishing touches on future AFFS officers the way only the tempering fire of combat could…

Diana shakes herself back to the present with a grin. "You know, reminiscing all the time is the first sign of aging" she shoots herself a smirk in the mirror "and talking to yourself is the first sign of madness." With a chuckle the mercenary commander finishes changing over to her mech togs and slips towards the dropship's mech bay, making it most of the way to her Bushwacker before someone managed to notice her presence. She grins at the tech, the same feral grin she'd had in the forests of her homeworld at the dawn of the Third Succession War "Spread the word, all hands briefing, my mech in thirty minutes. Everyone had better be mission ready by then."

The bay of the dropship Errant Chance was uncharacteristically quiet, merc or military unit alike, dropship bays were almost always loud, repairs, arming or prep of one kind or another constantly going on, especially just before a mission, but the command's eight mechwarriors, and most of their infantry, and the full 'mech support staff were clustered around the Bushwacker that was the personal mech of their commanding officer, who was perched on the nose of her mech in her cooling vest and boots. Everyone attended the pre-mission brief. One team, one fight. The only exceptions were the security details and watch teams in command and control. The flight team was also excused in this case as the dropship was preparing for lift.

"Right people this is the last run before we lift, our employer has aggressively encouraged us to take salvage in addition to the very nice paycheck we're getting. Theoretically we're mission accomplished and we've already pulled some nice gear, but Intelligence section has uncovered something very interesting. There's a cache here we don't think the client knows about at one of the defense research facilities we didn't bother attacking because it was considered a tertiary target of minimal value. Turns out we were wrong. Analyzing the servers we cracked revealed some serious tech located there. Clan tech. Not just clanner weapons we can use to refit some of our mechs and of course sell for a tidy profit, but an entire Timberwolf… also called a Mad Cat. Now I don't think most of you were even whelped for the Clan Invasion besides Me, Chief, the Gunny and the Professor, but those mechs are a legend now and were a nightmare then. It's also gonna be my new ride, which means we'll be able to reshuffle our mech rosters, add a Medium mech to the recon lance, and probably pick up a new mech and a pair of mech warriors. Get us a full company. Throw in that squad's worth of Inner Sphere Standard power armor and we might just have to pay the client for this run."

Diana waits patiently for her chuckling command to quiet down. Morale was high. Very high. This operation had gone extremely well, and extending it to capture these extra supplies from the local mech production facilities they'd been tasked with wrecking up any way… well that was just icing on the cake. A cake that meant they could probably get a rating upgrade from the MRBC, and start getting jobs that would keep them all in, if not quite luxury, then comfort and ammunition without nearly as much scraping by.

"Right you clowns, can it. We still have work to do. With heavy mech forces dropping on the other side of the continent to secure the facilities there, we need to do this time yesterday before the Cobras can get a dropship over here once they manage to put all those fires we started out. We're still on contract people so don't relax till we hit orbit. Any questions about the operation as briefed?"

A chorus of "No" rings out across the mech bay, from mechwarriors, infantry and technical support staff alike. She flashes a smile more comparable to a shewolf baring her fangs at a deer then any indication of human happiness and yells. "Mount up! Tally ho!" The bay explodes with noise as infantry race for their vehicles and mechwarriors clamber for their lifts and ladders to be buttoned into their mechs by their head technicians. For her part Diana gives her Bushwacker a fond pat and crawls over the hull to the cockpit entrance "One more ride old girl, then you get a chance at a pilot who will treat you better." With her neurohelmet in place and a thumbs up to her lead tech, Diana La Croix seals her hatch and is first out the door of the bay.

Dropship Errant Chance – High Orbit, 2340 Outreach time

"Skipper we're prepared for our gravity slingshot towards the jump point. Just need your order to begin the burn." The comm system was damnably loud in the middle of her first serious sleep cycle since they'd made planet fall a month ago. She'd gone back to her cabin and passed out the second the Cobras had confirmed they had left the combat zone and were no longer considered combatants. "Very well, inform the OOD to ensure all compartments secure and begin the burn. Status on the jump ship?" her voice was a bit bleary, but commanding all the same, what with the comm panel's slight static, the comm officer on the other end likely had no idea that she'd woken her boss up.

"Ma'am, they just jumped in system, we've made contact with them and have our next link up point scheduled as we head back to Outreach, we'll be with them for four jumps. Payment has been processed and they're awaiting us and a dropship from one of the other planets. Commercial, no threat anticipated."

"Very well. As soon as we meet up flash a mission complete and full report to the client. Leave out the special salvage. No need to suggest sharing. Inform the MCRB that we'll be available for contracts with departure from Outreach no earlier than… two months after our projected arrival date on Outreach. We have mechwarriors to hire and mechs to refit."

"Aye ma'am, I'll let them know that La Croix's Chasseurs are back on the market."

"Carry on. La Croix out." With a groan Diana flops back into her bunk, mentally wanting to shoot the comm panel to ensure its continued silence as she feels the Chance's engines start to prime. "Not a bad day's work for a beat up crunchy." She mutters to herself before drifting back to sleep, the rock solid rest that only an infantryman can truly know.


End file.
